


Beneath The Skin

by Vinctia



Series: That Which Fate Decrees [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (But you guys play Witcher so it's not like you're squeamish at this point), Blood and Violence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Harassment, Original Character(s), Rated M for Violence and Gore, Slow Burn, Some B&W spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 14:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11083926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinctia/pseuds/Vinctia
Summary: Dettlaff van der Eretein left with a heart torn to bits by a woman, who died at his hands at Tesham Mutna. This takes place sometime afterwards, when Fate decided to cut him some slack.





	1. Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt to put a band-aid over the tragicness that is Dettlaff's story. Kudos are loved, comments are beyond loved, I'd love to hear your thoughts. I'm also shit with tags, sorry about that.

How long had it been? Months, years, decades? Time was strange to him, an oddity he despised for if he closed his eyes a moment then all would be different once he opened them again. Humans were fast to change, to die, to be born, to live... Still, the wound in his heart felt as real as though the knife had cut him yesterday. Perhaps it was only yesterday. Who could say at this point...

The only thing Dettlaff truly knew was that he had wandered and that his heart ached, his soul cried out, his being was hurting beyond hurt. Deep and terrible, as was known for others of his ilk. Their kind felt in a way no man or woman could comprehend. A wound such as this was devastating for him, consumed his mind until all he knew was rage, loathing and loss. For the umpteenth time, he stopped on the road and drove his hand into a nearby rock, making a sizeable crack in it.

He waited a while, feeling his temper simmer down again to a manageable level. Then he moved on yet again, hugging himself for a moment or two. Or maybe it was an hour or two. Again, time was a difficult concept for him to grasp. Time for him was never-ending and he feared this hate, this loathing would hound him till the world crumbled beneath his feet, and the sky would be lit ablaze.

 

Come the sunrise, the vampire sought a moment's rest near a village. Not in the village itself but in the outskirts. Rare was the day when monsters would attack a village in broad daylight, less they were provoked to do so. And villagers do not bother those they do not know are there. If he stayed out of sight, he stayed out of mind and he'd be granted a moment of tranquillity. Just to rest a bit. He didn't have to but... force of habit. Familiarity. It was a comfort to cling to, if a small one.

As he sat in the tree overseeing the village, hidden well from view, he heard their little squabbles, they little tales and fancies. Humans were odd ones, having lusts and needs for things he could barely grasp the importance of. One thing that tugged at his soul was talk of marriage, of love and lovers beneath the stars. Young couples speaking of hiding away the following night, to enjoy one another's company under the cover of darkness. This talk of love was everywhere and he snarled silently to himself. Idiots, the lot...

He watched a young woman with pale blonde hair in a pale blue dress walk across the yard, carrying a basket. The reason he took notice was because a young man ran after her with a bundle of wild-flowers in his hand. With this vantage point he could hear their conversation, eyebrow raised in mild interest.

 

"Please, o' my luv, my sweetheart! My darlin' wildflower, won't you please marry me, come spring, luv?" he begged her. "I'll be the best husband you ever saws, luv, I swears it! I'll treat you right and proper, I will, on me heart, I swears it! You're the most beautiful of ladies I ever saws--"

Dettlaff stopped listening at that point. It was pure lovesick drivel, none of it he wanted to hear. It sickened him now, this sugar-sweet vow of eternal love. He had gotten that vow once and it still hurt him. He sneered to himself, claws grabbing a nearby branch and nearly snapped it in two out of sheer rage of the memory. Then he stopped as he heard something different from the couple.

 

"That's very sweet of you, but I... I don't want a man. I don't even know you, I--" the young woman began.

"My name's Bert! Everyone knows me in the village!" the young man exclaimed with a smile on his face.

"Bert?... You're a drunkard. Everyone says so. Please, just, leave me alone. I don't want a man right now, I have other things to think of. I'm not even staying in this village for long and I don't aim on settling either," she said, taking a step back from him. The man followed.

"B-but please, luv, you're the most beautiful lady I ever saws--" Thankfully, the young man was interrupted by the village elder who gave him a right scolding for annoying the woman.

 

Dettlaff noticed the woman's accent. She was not from around here, not from the villages in these gods forsaken outskirts. She sounded more like one from the city. Looked more the part as well. He idly wondered, if only to think of something else than his bleeding heart, what she was doing in this little rural hole in the ground.

A quick scan over the village revealed a cart with goods fit for sale, ready to leave. She was heading there, this blonde lady, her basket full of herbs and spices. Perhaps a trade's girl then. Or simply a traveller such as himself. Good for her, she could leave this hole while the others could not and this 'Bert' character was hoping to snatch himself a beautiful wife from the cities. Perhaps to brag about.

At least she was smart enough to decline. Perhaps Dettlaff wasn't the only one who thought love was for fools and morons and the masochistic... Which of the three he was, remained to be seen and he'd admit to neither of them.

 

Soon the cart moved on, with the girl sitting in the back, leaving his sight and the village. It was beyond noon before the vampire decided to move once again, sticking to the woods while daylight lasted. He'd rather avoid being seen and avoid using any energy in the process. Come sunset, he was travelling the fields along the roads, walking quietly along the way and consumed by his own thoughts. He was alone on the roads, not a soul in sight, dead or alive. Just as he preferred it. No bandits to annoy him, no wraiths to howl at him.

Then a crossroads graced his path, signless too. No sign on the horizon to suggest where either road led. So now he had to choose, left or right. He sighed, annoyed by the fact he was forced to choose. A simple signpost would've made it easier. He huffed and looked around himself, spotting a branch nearby that would do nicely. Straight as an arrow, perfect for flipping and choosing. With sharp claw-like nails, he scratched off the bark on one end before casting it in the air to watch it flip in circles before landing and choosing his path for him.

To the left, it indicated, clear and simple. With that chosen, he kicked the branch off the road and began walking, hands hidden in his pockets and the crescent moon shining above.

 

 


	2. All Roads Lead Somewhere

The travel was long... or mayhaps short? Dettlaff didn't rightly pay attention to the movements of the sky, didn't care much. He could walk from Toussaint to Kovir and still think the road short. Time was odd for him, difficult and warped. The days... the days with Rhenawedd, not Syanna, had felt like years and yet too short. He'd bask in those days when he knew nothing, when this black-haired lady spared him a glance and smiled. That smile of hers lit a fuse in him every time. Now, it only led to rage and self-loathing and banging his head against a cliff-side to mellow out his temper.

She was dead. Dead at his hands. One part of him rejoiced at the justice served but another mourned, cried at the loss of the one he had torn his heart out for. He would've given her the world had she asked, given her the moon and the stars and the sun itself. He would've done everything for her and she merely used him as a tool in the end. A blunted knife to throw at her enemies, playing him like a fiddle in the meanwhile.

Had she merely asked, he would've willingly removed them all, one by one, if only to see her smile. But now, the thought tasted like bitter ashes and nothing else. He would never let another woman like her use him as a pawn again. Never. If anyone tried, he'd have their hearts torn from their chests so they could watch it before life would escape them.

Humans were so very easy to kill...

 

The vampire's feet brought him to a tavern, yet he stayed outside it for now, head tilted as he observed the comings and goings of humans, back and forth between the outside and the inside. He looked up, noting the earliest touches of sunlight on the horizon. Seemed like some of those humans were up early for whatever reason. Those reasons did not interest him and he made to leave the area once again.

A slightly familiar cart caught his eye, drawn by a grey mare and a chestnut one. Old nags both of them, no longer fit for long rides in the fields but they still had strength to pull ploughs and carts across the countryside. The cart was somewhat familiar, due to a basket in the back, carrying herbs and spices with a pale blue ribbon tied to the handle. The same colour of the dress of the woman from the village.

Dettlaff snorted and kept walking. So, he had picked the road upon which the woman was travelling. There were only two roads to pick from, so the odds weren't particularly eye-opening or surprising. It didn't matter. If he blinked for too long, she'd be 6 feet under with a slew of grandchildren mourning her grave-site. Or maybe none would mourn her, what did he know? What did it matter? Only the road ahead and he travelled along.

 

Seconds, minutes, hours later the road had not changed much. He looked upon the sky, seeing it blue and speckled with fluffy clouds drifting along. Hours then. How many was of no great importance. Perhaps he'd travelled an entire day already, perhaps not. But he heard the noise of hooves and the sound of cartwheels in the dirt somewhere behind him. Despite being as he was, he still had the decency to move out of the way of a moving cart.

Two horses pulled this one, a grey and a chestnut, with good speed behind them. A farmer beyond his middle-ages held the reins, eyes on the road, straw-hat on his head to shield the sun. As the cart passed he was faced with the back of it. Full of crates and hay and a single passenger; the girl with pale yellow hair and a pale blue dress. She was knitting, he noted, though cared not. Then she looked up and two sapphire eyes set upon him, gleaming in the sunlight. For moments she looked at him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

Dettlaff broke eye-contact first, staring at the road rather than the cart, hands in his pockets. So he had spared her a glance, and what did it matter to him. Then he heard the cart stop, the farmer pulling the horses to a halt. Curious, but unimportant. Perhaps a problem with the cart or whatnot, he wasn't about to find out.

 

"Excuse me, sir?" a sweet voice called from ahead of him, the young woman's he recognized. He looked up then. Why were they stopping and why was she speaking to him? Would they mock him for his attire in the midday heat? He could see that happening easily, he'd been mocked for less in the past.

The woman had an inquisitive expression on her face but... kind, perhaps? He was unsure, he had trouble reading these humans and their expressions. Every smile could hide a viper, as he'd found out from personal experience.

 

"Would you like a lift? There's room in the cart and the next crossroads is a while yet," she said, offered him. The farmer looked behind him and quickly turned his eyes to the road again. Uneasiness. It wasn't his decision to stop there, evidently. A... kindness, by her, then. The word tasted foreign in his mouth now, ashen and burnt.

 

"No thank you," he said, loud enough for the both of them to hear it. The farmer immediately set the horses at speed again, eager to get going on the road.

 

"But what if he--" the young woman turned her head to speak with the man, reasoning with him maybe. Maybe. It didn't matter. Not even the apologetic glance she sent Dettlaff mattered as the cart disappeared down the road, leaving the vampire to walk alone once again.

He wasn't ready to accept human kindness yet. His wounds hurt too much still, reminders of what once was and what it had become between his hands. He didn't want things to remind him of memories he'd rather forget. It was kind of her to offer, even if it seemed the farmer was against her wishes, but...

 

Not now. Maybe when he'd be able to forget, but not now.

 

 


	3. Pack Mentality

The road stretched ever onwards, few passing him by on horseback and in carts. A man in a bright red attire on horseback, with a bodyguard in hard leathers and a longsword at his hip. A farmer's cart with hay and crates pulled by two chestnut mares. And a lone horseman, wearing greens and browns and a bow on his back. Hunter, presumably, though without prey in sight. Neither stopped nor asked to the lone wanderer on the road, just how Dettlaff liked it. Undisturbed.

He did miss just one thing, but it was a thing he could re-establish later. He missed his pack, his lesser kin whom he could run with in the night, control and care for. The thing was, they held no love for one another. They were lessers, most of them mindless, selfish beasts who only came together to take down large prey. Like a pack of wild dogs. The only reason they ran as a pack was respect to Dettlaff. He asserted himself and they followed him dutifully.

But perhaps it was just as well. He had ordered them away from a proper feast, ordered them to fall back and abandon their blood hunts. None of them had liked that. Had he stayed, he would've had to deal with their whining, doubting of his leadership and nagging about going on another feasting. What he needed right now was peace and quiet. From everything and everyone. Especially those he knew.

 

Even Regis. He could handle himself by now, he didn't need him fretting over him like a mother hen. Besides, the witcher was there to watch over him now. A capable man that one, from what little he'd seen and felt. He knew Regis would be fine. Perhaps he'd return someday and meet him again but for now, he needed peace.

 

Once again in the eve, the road split, though in three different directions this time. A proper crossroads that led to many a destination. And yet without a road-sign or any settlements on the horizon. No spires from a city or the sight of oceans. Just a spot of trees here, some meadows there...

With another sneer much the same as last time, he looked around himself to find a stick again. Perhaps he should've kept the last one. But he was in luck; another one, straight as an arrow. With a claw he stripped the bark at one end and tossed it in the air, watching it spin and twirl. It landed with a dull thud and indicated the road to the right. And thus, Dettlaff kicked the stick off the road and followed the road to the right, passing by a small spot of forest.

 

The road went on and on, eventually growing wider and more well-travelled as he walked. Smaller side-roads led elsewhere, possibly to more villages in the outskirts. Again, no signposts, no indication as to where he was. It seemed if you needed help navigating the roads, you'd have to ask a local. Or get a map. The vampire had neither, so he followed where his feet carried him.

In the horizon rose a city at last. Perhaps a place he could disappear into for a while. He still couldn't quite let go of those years in Beauclair, no matter the heartache it caused him to think of them. Humans were odd things that he struggled to understand at times, but there was an odd... comfort by being among them. It could simply be that being in such a large group of them appealed to his pack instinct. If he could find a quiet, abandoned house to curl up in, he could remain undisturbed for a while and maybe find some peace in the daily comings and goings of humans. There had always been something comforting about the continuous stream of people doing the same thing every day back in Beauclair.

Mayhaps it could comfort him now when he most needed it.

 

The streets were emptied out almost entirely when he reached the city. A few tired guardsmen on patrol but few others wandered in the night. Thugs and thieves, most likely. All the better if he was to find a quiet building to hunker down in. With ears piqued he wandered the night, avoiding the drunkards swaying in the alleys and the strumpets whoring themselves on the street corners. He took a deep breath through his nose, picking up as many scents at once as he could.

Spices, wine, ale, mud, day-old meat from vendors in the marketplace hours ago but still clinging there. Perfumes. River-muck. Fish oil. A faint scent of rot in certain areas, possibly from the buildings. Or maybe the gutters, hard to tell. Another deep breath. Dust, faint smell of attic and cellar, musty scent of mould. He was getting close to somewhere he could stay without being disturbed overmuch.

Rounding a corner he saw a somewhat fallen district, old houses lying abandoned where their previous owners left them. Faintest smell of blood. Stale urine. He grimaced. Not here. His feet carried him onwards. Another inhale of the night air, tasting the soft cold upon the wind. Firewood burning, coal, metal, weapon oils, hot iron. A forge, closed now during the night. Inhabited. It wouldn't be here either.

 

Scents carried him around the city's lower districts, from scents of overused perfume, to ale and brickwork. Thinking he would never find a proper place to rest in this city, he passed an abandoned shop. Used to sell cloth it seemed, if the moth-eaten remains he could see from the window were any indication. He raised his head a little again, sniffing the air. Dust. Faint smell of attic and cellar. Musty scent of mould. He could live with that. Listening yielded a strong answer of nothing; no one was home. Not a heartbeat in the building, save for rats. He looked up to see a window slightly open in the facade, leading to the attic.

Looking around himself, he made sure he was alone before becoming a faint mist, only to rise up and into the attic of the building. Materializing once more, he assessed his surroundings in full. Old and dusty with clothing dummies, moth-eaten linen and silks and a few mirrors. He grimaced at the mirrors before reaching for several large linens that weren't entirely full of holes and covered them up. A few bolts of cloth, some hay and he could make an average mattress to sleep upon.

This would suit his needs just fine. If all went well, this place would be undisturbed for a while. If not, they would start renovating come the morning and he'd have to bail out. For now, he preferred this place over the run-down district. He never did enjoy the smell of piss.

 

A few rats scurried out from their hiding spots, curious to see who had encroached upon them. Giving the faintest of smiles, Dettlaff kneeled before one of them and held out his hand. The beady-eyed creature skittered closer, sniffing the air and at his hand. He whispered a few words in a tongue it would understand, assuring it and its kin that he would not harm any of them. The rodent blinked, chittered then disappeared with its brethren back to the darkness. A welcome as warm as any rat could give him. A warmer welcome he couldn't have asked for either.

He made a mental note to obtain some food scraps for them to eat. Perhaps he could make himself a small pack with them. After all, most rodents were smarter than most Fleders he had met in his time. They would make fine company for now.

 

For the moment, rest was in order. He gathered a few bolts of cloth and laid them out in a relatively clean spot on the floor, getting a mildly soft surface to rest on. It would have to do for now. With a crack of his neck he laid down and closed his eyes, emptying out his mind to find some peaceful rest.

 

 


	4. The City's Wonders

He expected things to look different once he awoke. The ceiling to look newer or older maybe, perhaps the ceiling would be gone and he'd be faced with the open sky. Or maybe a dungeon hole, if someone had found him and had decided to throw him there and question him later. But no. The only thing that had changed was the light. Soft morning light streamed through the half-open window he had misted through to get to the attic. He idly wondered how long he had rested. Could've been for the night, could've been for days. Maybe a week. All possibilities. But it didn't matter much.

Standing, he brushed himself off and walked over to the window to peek out, careful not to be seen. If humans got a whiff that there was a squatter in the building, they'd be curious and investigate and he didn't want that. It appeared the city was waking up as people traversed the streets below, going to their daily business. Peering a little further, Dettlaff spotted the source to the smell of river-muck and fish oil he had detected when he had arrived.

A lazy river stretched along one side of the city, snaking its way further into the horizon. Small boats bobbed on the surface, fishing boats perchance, as well as transports carrying goods back and forth. Merchants could grow fat on this kind of trade quite easily. He hadn't been all that interested in investigating when he had arrived, but he catalogued the knowledge away for now.

 

Something caught his eye on the streets. Something blue and yellow. Looking down he saw something he had not quite expected. A young woman with flaxen hair and a pale blue dress. His face scrunched up in confusion. Something was odd now, how could he have taken the same roads as her twice? What were the odds? He shook his head. No matter, it didn't matter. Mere chance is what it was. Perhaps it wasn't even the same girl, perhaps faded blue was a fashion these days. Another thing he failed to grasp the importance of.

But his curiosity was somewhat piqued now. Just a bit. He'd never admit it though. And he'd never admit he turned to mist and floated down to an empty alleyway to re-materialize once again. And he'd most definitely never admit to following the girl with pale yellow hair for a little while.

He stayed out of sight as only a predator could, staying hidden and aware of his surroundings as he walked the streets. Eyes followed her, nose catching her scent as he trailed close by. Faintest smell of fish oil, but too faint to be a fisher or a fishwife. Ale, stronger but coming from her clothes, mixed with other scents of apple juice, soup and something smoked. Food, essentially. Tavern, maybe? And another scent, a perfume wafting light on the air. Warm scent, roses and violets. Simple as perfumes go.

 

He watched her for a little while more, head slightly cocked to the side as he hid in an alley. Then she disappeared behind a door and was gone. No signpost to the door, no defining features. Her home then. It was a bit away from the building he had decided to occupy. Too far to bother him much, thankfully. With that established, the vampire moved into the streets and along the cobblestone to simply explore and memorize his temporary residence.

The city had a sizeable market, close to the river. Plenty of things were sold here, from freshly caught fish to linens to cloth to spices to meats of different kinds. Pots, pans, utensils, horseshoes, leather scraps, chicken feathers, knitted scarves... the list goes on. A good place to get resources should he ever need them.

His feet took him from the market and further into the streets, rounding corners and alleys. He passed a few shops rather than stalls, some of them selling higher quality goods than the market did. A jeweller's parlour selling fine silverware and necklaces. Pretty to look at, but he'd rather not touch them. A few golden rings were on display as well with sizeable stones in them. Probably cost an arm and a leg, not that he'd buy one any time soon.

 

A waft of herbs in the air nearby. An herbalist with a proper shop just down the road, selling perfumes and herbal remedies. Another good point of interest should he need it. Further along the way he came across a pawnshop with various things of interest in the windows. Tools, daggers, bits and baubles aplenty. It reminded him of the toyshop he had occupied back in Beauclair and the memory drove a needle into his heart. He liked that toyshop, liked working with the broken toys and repairing them. Tinkering. A comfort.

Perhaps if he were to stay a while longer in this city, he'd come back and get an armful of items to tinker away with. Maybe. It was tempting but he knew not yet if he was to stay here. For the moment it was a brief stop to breathe and gather his thoughts. No one here knew him, no one here knew his name nor his face. He could stand to be unrecognised for a while.

Time went on as he walked further into the city's heart, passing buildings both new and old. He passed a church and a graveyard, oddly pristine without much sign of disturbance from necrophages and the like. Perhaps a witcher went by recently or perhaps these people simply buried their dead too deep for the scavengers to get them. There wasn't even a whiff in the air from one of his kin, lesser or otherwise. Could be the city had wraiths instead rather than scavengers to contend with. He felt... alone here. Out of place. If he was the only vampire in town, then it was the bare truth too.

 

Ever onwards his feet led him, all the way to the borders of the 'finer' districts, where aristocrats wiled away their time with idle fancies. He merely grimaced and spared the houses only a glance before turning back. He had had enough of 'fine' things and the people that indulged in them. Aristocratic nonsense was the reason to all this muck in the first place. He grimaced again and hunched his shoulders as he walked away. Now was not the time to think of that. The less he was reminded, the better chances he had of forgetting.

The sound of a hammer meeting raw, hot metal drew his attention and he turned a corner to spot the blacksmith's building he had crossed when he had arrived. A large man with arms like tree-trunks was working the forge, bending iron and steel to his will. Horseshoes for the moment, it seemed. Quite skilled too, very quick in his movements. The vampire observed his work for some time and the blacksmith didn't seem to mind. Maybe he didn't care. Maybe he'd had a thousand people stare at him work before. All plausibilities.

He moved away eventually, rounding down to the banks of the river to watch the still waters. A scent of spice on the air, fish and fish blood. Rotting wood. A few boats rocked softly back and forth in the still river, some there to check the nets while others were transporting goods to and from the docks. Several scents met him from those boats, ranging from exotic spices to meats to fabrics and wool to oils and perfumes from faraway places. He found himself a nice perch to sit upon, undisturbed and out of the way. From there, he simply watched the boats come and go, watched the sunlight glint in the water. An illusion of bliss and tranquillity, one he could sit and take some comfort in for the moment.

 

Eventually, he looked up and saw sunset rather than clear blue skies. It would be time soon to leave and make himself scarce, if he wanted to blend in with the rest of the city. So he stood from his seat and began to make his way back down the shore.

Walking alongside the still river, he spotted a tavern overlooking it. A true tavern, not an inn, though one lay just nearby as well. A sweet smell of alcohol wafted from the door whenever someone opened it, putting a longing in Dettlaff's gut. Not a hunger but more a thirst, though nothing close to what he had experienced in his time. Perhaps a drink would do him some good. If it wasn't distilled piss, he might even enjoy it.

 

The sign above the door was faded but somewhat legible; Ferret's Rest. Charming. But the promising scent of alcohol made him open the door and step inside. There was a distinct lack of patrons in the tavern, just two drunkards sitting each with a tankard of frothy ale. A woman with reddish brown hair and a simple green dress stood behind a simple counter, looking mighty bored. He could only just spot a man in the kitchen cooking away at a fire. A few scents of food wafted from there, not as strong as the scent of alcohol, but perhaps he'd partake in a few scraps of food as well while he was there.

The waitress piqued up from her spot when she saw Dettlaff walk in, giving him a once-over and a small smile.

 

"Evenin', luv, what can I get you?" she asked, tone a little rough around the edges. Long-time drinker perhaps, or maybe she used her voice a little overmuch at times. He spared her a glance before finding a table and chair by a window overlooking the river.

 

"An ale," he merely said, sitting down. The waitress disappeared out to the kitchen for a while and then returned with a tankard of Kaedweni Stout it smelled like. Perhaps a stable here. Not that he minded, most ales tasted the same to him. It was less the taste and more the alcohol he was interested in. While it didn't have the kick that blood could have, it also didn't have the addictiveness that blood had as a side-effect.

 

"There you go, luv, enjoy," she smiled at him, giving him a wink. He gave just one nod, expression unchanged. That seemed to cool her off a bit and the smile disappeared while she disappeared behind the counter again. He brought the tankard to his lips and took a mouthful of it. Not bad, not bad at all. Not cheap swill they sell at travelling inns, nor distilled with vodka or water. Just pure Kaedweni Stout. Refreshing to get a good mouthful of a proper ale for once.

While he sat there enjoying the sight of the river outside and the ale in his hand, someone opened the door. He wouldn't have spared them much thought if a certain scent hadn't caught his senses. The faintest trace of roses and violets. He barely turned his head to glance at the door to see if what his senses told him was true. Unbelievably, it was.

A young woman with pale yellow hair, in a pale blue dress, now walking towards the counter. The same girl he had spotted in the village, the same girl he had met on the road, the same girl he had seen on the streets. He had not expected to see her again, but there she was with her sapphire eyes and gentle smile, walking up to the other woman.

 

"Good evening, Kalina. Hard at work, I see," she chuckled, her voice more pleasant to listen to than the other woman's. She reached for an apron behind the counter, tying it around her waist. It was yellowed with age, but it seemed she didn't care much. Or perhaps didn't have a choice in the matter.

 

"Aye, very hard at work, luv, just as hard at work as I was an hour ago. Where'd you run off to anyhow?" the other woman, Kalina, asked.

 

"I had forgotten to give a gift to a friend of mine, it's his birthday today," the flaxen-haired woman answered, taking a rag and a brush with her as she went over to a tub and a small pile of dirty dishes.

 

"Ahh, I see. Marcel's a soft-heart on that kind of thing, no wonder he let you go off for an hour," Kalina chuckled, grabbing the rag the other woman had placed on her shoulder. They continued chattering about things Dettlaff didn't pay attention to while washing dishes. It didn't matter to him, what mattered right now was the fact he had seen this woman time and again in different places. Was she following him? Couldn't be... But why had he seen her? Was someone trying to tell him something?

 

Eventually his tankard was empty without him really realizing it until one of the women stood next to him. He felt her presence before he heard her. Scent of ale, cheap perfume with too many variables for him to want to pick out. Kalina. He looked up and met her pale green eyes with his own grey ones.

 

"A refill, luv?" she asked, hands at her hips. He looked at the tankard before him and just shook his head. One was enough for him.

 

"That'll be five crowns, less y'wanna open up a tab," she said, holding out her hand. He didn't speak, merely reached into his coat for the asked amount and turned away to look at the horizon and disappearing sun. He heard a snort from the woman as she walked away and back to the other woman, still nameless to him.

 

"Pfft, stingy..." he heard her say, hushed somewhat. Any other sod probably wouldn't have heard her, but he had his heightened senses and he heard it all.

 

"What do you mean?" the flaxen haired one asked.

"Just paid the amount. Not even a tip for me."

"Well, maybe he doesn't have much money to go around."

"Then why's he spendin' it on drink? Bad egg that one, drunkard pro'ly."

 

"Really now, that's a bit harsh. Perhaps he just had a bad day and needed an ale. Besides, if he was a drunkard, he'd have a tab the length of his forearm by now." That made him listen in earnest. This woman didn't even know him and still she defended him over a lie... Who was she? What gave her the right to do that?

 

"Pfft, mark my words, luv, he'll be back in the morrow with more coin and he'll drink it all away. I know my men. They always drink, they do."

"Kalina, that's unfair. It could be any number of reasons he didn't tip you."

"What, you're sayin' I'm not pretty enough? What kinda girls would a guy like if he wouldn't tip me?"

"Don't know, why don't you ask him instead of these pointless accusations?"

"Why'd you care?"

"Because he can't defend himself and someone has to not put up with your crap."

"Oh, cry me a river."

"Girls. That's enough," came it from the kitchen and the women halted their conversation. Dettlaff looked out the window again, churning this information over in his mind. Who was this woman and why would she offer to help a stranger? Why would she defend a stranger?... And why did he keep bumping into her?

 

"Well, now's my time to be off. You coming, luv?" Kalina suddenly said. Dettlaff didn't know how much time had passed once his thoughts had cleared up, but he looked somewhat to the women at the counter this time.

 

"No, I'm taking the evening hours for a while. Prices are going up on everything, so I need the coin," the flaxen-haired one explained, to which Kalina nodded and undid her apron.

 

"As you say, luv, as you say. See you tomorrow then, don't work yourself into the ground," and with that she disappeared out the door. The only ones in the tavern now were him and the girl he'd seen on more than one occasion now. He sat in silence for a while, staring at his hands, before turning his head to look at her. Once she looked in his direction, she caught on immediately and came over with a soft smile.

 

"What can I get you?" she asked with a kind if tired smile.

 

"A glass of water, if you have," he requested.

 

"Sure thing," she nodded, still smiling as she went out to the kitchen. Not long after she returned with a cup and a pitcher of water, which she poured to him by the table.

 

"If... you don't mind my asking, sir... Didn't I see you on the road a few days past?" she asked then, looking at him with those inquisitive eyes of hers. He spared her a glance before nodding and sipping the cup.

 

"Good grief, walking that whole way to here... But if that's what you like, then that's what you like. I guess it's good for you to walk," she chuckled, good-naturedly. That could've been a hidden insult from anyone else, but from her it sounded strangely honest. Like she meant it.

 

"It's not like it's my business how other people like to travel," she added, tone still kind. Interesting... Silence then took the room as he drank his cup of water, emptying it out soon enough. He stood and carried the cup with him to the counter, sparing her the trip.

 

"How much?" he asked, short, to the point. She smiled and shook her head, to which he tilted his head, confused.

 

"Nothing... It's just water. I don't charge people for a cup of water, at least as long as Marcel's not looking. If you want to pay, sure, but I don't charge anything," she half-whispered to him so as to not alert the man in the kitchen. That would be Marcel then. The gesture... touched Dettlaff. Sure, it was just a cup of water but... This was the third time she'd been kind to him. First offering a cart-ride, then defending him from a shrew's accusations and now effectively giving him a glass of water.

He reached into his coat and fished out five crowns, putting them on the table. He turned to leave before she had a chance to thank him or say anything but he could feel her eyes on his back. He could almost see her smile in his mind.

 

"Oh thank Melitele..." she prayed under her breath, one of thankfulness not relief. Not related to his departure, he somehow knew this. But he didn't pay it much mind as he walked out into the night. Well, not until he heard the door open and shut when he was a few yards off. He turned and saw the girl steal into the night, carrying a sack of something. He would never admit that his curiosity got the better of him, and he most certainly wouldn't admit to following her in the night.

He didn't have to follow her far to see where she was going. Just down a few alleys and then she stopped, alerted by someone psst'ing to her in the dark. A beggar, smelling of river muck and soot.

 

"There you are. Here, leftovers from today," the girl said, smiling, handing the beggar the sack. He smiled wide as he opened it.

 

"A loaf of bread, two bottles of ale, some smoked salmon and half a meat-pie," she explained to him and Dettlaff could see from his vantage point that he was on the verge of tears. Then she handed him a handful of crowns and his face lit up.

 

"A kind man gave me this. I think you should have them," she said before the beggar hugged her.

 

"Oh thank you, thank you, m'lady! You're a kind soul, you are, you really are. I'll share it out to the others, oh thank you so much," he praised her, taking the sack and hugged it to his chest, guarding it with his life.

 

"You're welcome, dear. Do give my regards to the others," she chuckled, watching the beggar disappear off into the night. Dettlaff watched her walk away in the direction of her home, left alone with his thoughts of what had just transpired. This couldn't be true, could it? No one... no one could be like that, be that kind to others without expecting anything... Could they? No... there must be something hiding beneath it. There always was. But he had no proof. He'd have to watch her for a while if he wanted to know.

 

And for some reason, he wanted to know.

 

 


	5. Hunter's Quarry

A week had gone by. He knew for certain since he had counted the days, had been quite observant about that. He'd gone nights awake to track his prey, get a feel of her comings and goings. Her routines. There was something about her that he couldn't quite explain. Something that drew him to her. He wanted to know who she was. Her name didn't matter but her spirit, her wills and her motives. Was she... was she just another harlot who wrapped men around her little finger? It... somehow mattered to him and it annoyed him to no end, for he could not place the why. Why was he so interested in a human of all things, especially after what he had endured at the hands of one? Perhaps that was why he trailed her day in and day out, met up in the Ferret's Rest each day.

Or perhaps the routine was simply a nice comfort for him. He gritted his teeth and balled his hands into fists, annoyed at not finding a proper answer for why his instincts told him the things they did. He wanted to know, needed to know why he so diligently followed this flaxen-haired girl around, like a lost puppy at her heels. He almost sneered at that mental image, careful to keep himself under control. Now was not the time to lose it, not here among humans. They'd just yell bloody murder, as per usual.

Perhaps it was time for him to end this stupid "hunt" of his and move on. There was no point to it, all he learned was about her, the woman in the pale blue dress who worked as a waitress in a tavern overseeing the river, who gave out of the tavern's leftovers to the poor every evening, who offered cart-rides to strangers on the road, who defended strangers when someone accused them behind their backs, who gave water away for free...

 

Just as he was about to stand and leave, the door opened and his senses were assaulted by the reek of alcohol, too much alcohol. Sweat, weapon oil, blood, ink though not the kind you write with. A boisterous, large man entered the tavern, announcing his presence with a loud voice clouded with vodka. Dettlaff could smell it from his breath, even at this distance.

 

"Ayyeee! Boussy's home, he is! Bring out the Champion, lassies, I needs me a keg offit!" he hollered at the top of his lungs. Lovely, yet another good reason to leave. Well, until this Boussy character said the next thing.

 

"Ayyee, bring out the bluebird! 'Aven't seen 'er since I left! Where's you, pretty bluebird, could use somethin' good for me eyes, I could!" the large, somewhat muscled man sat down at a table, hands on his spread knees to fill out the room even more.

Bluebird? It couldn't be her, could it? But it was, as she stiffly walked out of the kitchen with a clearly faked smile and two mugs of Vizima Champion. She was tense, clearly so as she put the mugs down at Boussy's table.

 

"Here you go, Boussy. Enjoy," she said, though the kind trill in her voice was gone and replaced with unease. She clearly did not like this guy. And he seemed oblivious as he laughed, raising a mug to his lips to take a large gulp. Everyone else in the tavern raised their mugs too with various cheers to his name. Clearly everyone knew him, a regular in the tavern. Not very missed by the waitresses though, it seemed.

The flaxen-haired girl turned to leave for the kitchen, not wanting to be near her 'admirer' for too long. And then one large hand smacked her across the arse.

 

Boussy laughed and the others laughed with him as though this was everyday antics. An old joke. Dettlaff on the other hand sat as though made of stone. He had to bite his tongue, clench his fist so as to not immediately zip over and make that meat-mountain eat his mugs of Vizima. Rage boiled in him and he didn't even blink as he stared Boussy down. He wasn't noticed by anyone in the tavern to do so, much to his own luck. They were all either too drunk or paying too much attention to Boussy.

A silent crack came from Dettlaff's hand and he looked down where he'd grasped his mug. The handle had disintigrated between his fingers, now just sad splinters in his palm. He briefly imagined that to be Boussy's neck and looked at him once again with hate written in his eyes. The 'bluebird' had flown back to the kitchen, out of sight and away from Boussy. He could hear her vaguely from the kitchen, talking with Kalina.

 

"--astard slapped me again. Sod, that smarts... Why does he always ask for me?"

"'Cause he likes you, luv, sad to say. Much as I try my charms 'n' whatnots, it don't work as well as I'd want. Maybe he likes you 'cause he hasn't fucked you yet. If you'd just let--"

"No! Never. Not going to happen. I refuse to lay with that whoreson, just because he calls me 'bluebird' and slaps me. I'm not giving in to that bastard, I hate him."

Well, at least she had better tastes than that.

 

Dettlaff took a few breaths to calm his raging mind, closing his eyes to think clearly. He'd make Boussy pay for that. Make him squirm and regret ever laying a hand on the flaxen-haired girl. She was his prey, damn it all, and he'd not allow a harlotsbrood like that simply grope her like he owned her. No one touched his prize and he'd let it be known clear as crystal.

 

"C'mere, bluebird!" Boussy uttered and Dettlaff's head spun to his direction to see what the bastard was up to now. He had grabbed the waitress by the wrist, while she tried to get away, like a rabbit caught in a snare.

 

"P-Please Boussy, I really need to get back to work, I--" but he'd hear none of it evidently, as he pulled the struggling woman into his lap.

"Oh, come now, give us a kiss!"

"Boussy, no--"

 

"A no means no, Boussy, or did your mother not teach you that?"

You could've heard a pin drop. Everyone stared at Dettlaff who had stood from his chair, standing tall and imposing in the room with unblinking eyes written with murder. He could imagine far too many ways of tearing that man apart, and he'd enjoy every single one of them. The beast turned within him, whispering sweet things in his ear to be led out in full. Full tilt, nothing held back, _**come on, Dettlaff my dear...**_

 

"How's about you stay outta my business, eh? Who do you think you are anyhow?" Boussy asked, still holding onto the struggling bird in his arms. Before Dettlaff had a chance to lay down the land and possibly kick the man out of the window and into the river, Marcel emerged from the kitchen.

 

"Oy! Boussy, how many times do I gotta tell you?! Hands off the waitresses! If I see you put a hand on her again, I'm cutting you off for a month!" he angrily declared and finally Boussy let go of the girl, letting her scurry off to safety. Brown eyes looked between Marcel and Dettlaff before he nodded a bit, putting on a wide smile.

 

"'Eyyy, no need for the hostilities, we'res all in good humour here, eh? Just 'aven't seen my little bluebird for a while, sorry if I gots a bit too handsy on her. No ill meaning, Marcel... stranger," he nodded to both the barkeep and Dettlaff. Rage still boiled in him, the beast slithering sweet words through his mind. _C **ome on, let us out and play, my dear, I will tear him to shreds so not even his mother will recognize him...** Not now. Later._

 

He sat back down again, folding his hands on the table while taking a few calming breaths. The now familiar scent of roses and violets wafted his way and a pair of soft footsteps stopped by his table. He looked up to see kind sapphires and a relieved, thankful smile. She set down a mug of... wine, he guessed. It had a spicy smell to it, sweet and burning. A wonderful vintage for a cold day to keep you warm.

 

"Thank you. This is on the house, you don't have to pay. I thought you might like it," she said, albeit in a soft, hushed voice. She reached over to grab the empty mug, before disappearing back out into the kitchen once again. Kalina emerged to take the next round of guests and Dettlaff was left with a queer feeling in his chest. He brought the mug to his lips and took a sip, tasting the wine. Spiced, as he thought, tingling his tongue and the back of his throat quite pleasantly. He could get used to that taste. Especially when the aftertaste hit him, mellowing out in a sweet warmth that would keep for quite a while.

Time passed as he enjoyed the spiced wine while keeping an eye on Boussy. He hadn't groped or slapped the little bluebird yet but he would still pay for what he had already done. He had just the thing in mind. He'd hunt tonight and Boussy was to be his prey. An easy prey to find and an easy prey to tear into. He would not kill him, oh no, there were worse things than death. He should know, what with personal experience now. He'd do worse. He'd make him fear, looking over his shoulder for many a year to come, just waiting for an unseen horror to end his life. Humans were terribly superstitious and he could use that against them.

 

The night wiled away until Boussy had decided he'd had enough. With a holler and a goodbye, he left the building. Dettlaff counted the seconds, counted the minutes and then he was after him, leaving a handful of crowns at his table. The hunt was on and the trail was easy to follow. Boussy was a large man and he reeked of alcohol to high heaven. The vampire followed him noiselessly, unseen, along the rooftops. Then the opportunity presented itself in a derelict alleyway and he pounced.

Strong hands grabbed the man by the neck and threw him against a wall, face-first. The beast was out now, all snarls and growls and glowing eyes in the dark.

 

" _ **You. I saw what you did. If you ever think about laying a hand on the bluebird again... I will tear you apart. I will shred the skin from your flesh while you still live. Are we clear... Boussy**_?" he growled at him, long claws digging into the back of the man's neck while his other hand had dug itself into the wall next to his face so he could get a good, long look at them. Boussy's brown eyes looked back at him, terrified to the point of speechless.

 

" _ **Are we clear?!**_ " he repeated with a sneer. Boussy nodded very quickly, terrified for his life... The slightest scent of urine in the air. Dettlaff had gotten his point across. Good. With one last snarl, he disappeared in a cloud of mist and reappeared elsewhere in safety. Boussy wouldn't recognize him come morning, he had been well-shielded by the darkness of the alley. All he'd seen was a terrifying monster with glowing eyes, shrouded in shadows. His mind could spin all sorts of tales from that and none of them would implicate Dettlaff. After all, he didn't look like a monster when the beast was nicely caged

 

Having asserted his dominance once again, he did have a bit of confidence in his steps as he assumed his nightly vigil of guard-- following, his flaxen-haired prey. Following. That was all he did. Observing her comings and goings, to judge whether she truly was as pure hearted as she seemed.

 

He still didn't know why he cared, though.

 

 


	6. Names Are For Friends

Rain pattered lightly on the window, dousing the world in a well-earned shower of water. Murmuring talk in the tavern betrayed that they'd been waiting for the rain, the crops had been dying in the fields. And with rain came the fish in the river as well. All in all, the rain was good for many a thing and it was a good excuse for Dettlaff to stay in the tavern. Not that he needed one at this point. He showed up in the morning and disappeared in the evening, always while the flaxen-haired girl was still in the tavern. He'd scare her off otherwise if he arrived before her and left after her.

He found he enjoyed the routine of coming and going to the same place, wandering the same streets, seeing the same face every day. It was a stability, a comfort, something to distract him from his thoughts of--

He shook his head. Not now. He would not give her the satisfaction, she was not worth thinking of. Not after everything that had transpired, everything that had happened because of her. His blood still boiled whenever his thoughts grazed her even the slightest, but he'd keep calm... He had to keep calm, he was near his prey, his quarry. One wrong move and she'd know he was there and leap to safety. Instead he distracted himself with the mug of stout he'd come to order every day, taking a gulp of it.

 

Something about sitting in the Ferret's Rest, drinking a mug of ale, looking onto the river, while a scent of roses and violets passed by him every so often... It calmed him. For a brief moment or two he could understand this want, this need for a mug of something in a tavern you knew well. He was reminded of a time when he didn't understand the use of alcohol, didn't understand the meaning of it. He had blood, that was all he had needed, all he had wanted. Even now the alcohol didn't faze him much, but he understood the routine, the comfort in the simple act of sitting down with your thoughts in a place you could somewhat relax in.

He watched the sun set over the trees across the river, heard the murmur of people disappear into the evening, heard Kalina wish her colleague a good evening before all was quiet. Slight tapping of footsteps as the flaxen-haired girl stepped around the tables, presumably cleaning them up for the next day. Marcel yawned in the background, then the sound of dishes being washed. Light footsteps stopped at his table and he looked up from his thoughts to meet those familiar sapphire eyes. She was smiling at him, dirty cleaning rag in one hand.

 

"Would you mind if I sat?" she asked tentatively, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. Dettlaff just shook his head softly and turned back to looking at the river. Stars glinted in the sky, a few lazy clouds drifting across them.

 

"I was wondering if I might ask for your name? I feel somewhat shameful for simply thinking and speaking of you as 'traveller', and you're becoming quite the regular at this point," she asked then, a bit on the shy side, tender. He looked at her, grey eyes meeting hers before he looked away, out at the river once again.

 

"Dettlaff," he merely said, didn't divulge any further. Didn't have to. He could see her smile in his peripheral vision, warm and sweet.

 

"A pleasure, Dettlaff. My name is Alicja," she shared. Alicja. A name to put to the face that had walked before him time and again. The name of a supposedly kind soul who did the sweetest things out of the kindness of her heart, who shunned brutes and helped the needy. The name was burned into his memory, even if his face showed nothing. He glanced at her again, then back at the river. It wasn't nearly as blue as her eyes.

 

"The pleasure is all mine," he finally said, didn't mean much by it. It felt more like a common courtesy, but... it could mean anything. It could really mean anything and he didn't want to explore what it might've meant beyond a simple courtesy to a kind woman.

But she smiled. He noticed, even in his peripheral vision, that her entire face smiled. Her lips, her eyes, her brow, her expression filled her face and it looked... it looked inviting. Like he could lose himself in her eyes, her lips, the colour of her skin, her flaxen hair with her bangs tied behind her head to keep them away from her eyes, the slightest dusting of freckles upon her cheeks and nose, just barely there.

He looked into his mug, taking a gulp of it. She stood and moved back to her task. He stood soon after and left the usual amount by his table, hastening out of the door, down the emptied streets to what he could call his nest now. Up and in, materializing with his hands leaning on the desk he'd hauled up. His teeth gritted, his eyes closed, his heart hurting in ways he didn't want it to hurt.

 

Dettlaff was losing it. He was losing himself again, he saw that now. He was losing himself to a mortal, human woman. A mortal, human woman called Alicja, with flaxen hair, pale blue dress and a heart that was slowly turning out to be gold. He couldn't afford to lose himself again, he couldn't afford himself to trust again. The last time... Oh, how it still hurt him, how it pained him. _She_ had seemed to have a heart of gold too, caring for him, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He could still remember it all, remember her touch on his shoulders, fingers tingling at the back of his neck. Her lips as she kissed him, drawing him with her, pulling at his hands and his heart the whole way.

Her voice he could still hear, saying his name, whispering it. And her scent, oh her scent! He had that memorized to a t. Every fraction of her scent, the sweat, the perfume she wore, the flowers she adored, scents of soap, of the wax her clothes had been treated with, of metal and steel she often trained with, of wines she loved...

It was driving him _mad_. Driving him up the wall with grief and hate and loathing. It was a mistake coming here. It was a mistake to walk the roads, to follow a trail he hadn't even seen. It was a mistake to stay, to follow this flaxen-haired bluebird. He saw _her_ in it all, he could still feel _her_ and hear her and smell her and it would be the death of him.

 

Who gave her the _right_ to be so kind? Who gave that flaxen-haired _bitch_ the right to extend her kindness so far? Why did she direct it to him? What did she see that he did not? What would she do if he let himself be lost? Oh, he knew, he knew very well, he did. She'd tear him apart from the inside, rip what was left of his heart to shreds. He couldn't afford that. He couldn't afford the pain again. Not again, not this time, not now, not _ever_!

He paced back and forth in the attic, rats watching him from the shadows as he snarled, sneered, growled, struck out at an unfortunate clothes dummy and sent it flying across the room. He had to leave. There was no other choice, he could not stay here. It hurt too much to stay. He'd have to leave.

Tomorrow. He'd leave tomorrow. He needed sleep for now, needed strength for when he'd leave.

 

Because that would hurt too, he reckoned.

 

 


	7. In Pieces

Sleep was difficult for him. Every time he closed his eyes he'd see faces he didn't want to see. Didn't want to think about. Didn't care to. But they kept swarming in his head like flies, buzzing about as though they had nothing better to do. He wanted them out, wanted the memories gone and he rolled back and forth on his home-made mattress until dawn crept through the windows. Even then he refused to get up, refused to move. He was supposed to flee today, to run, leave... But he lay paralysed, thinking the same thoughts over and over again. He never asked for this, he never asked for these memories but here they were, driving him mad with emotions he didn't want.

He snarled and banged his head against the floor, fingers clawing in his hair, eyes screwed shut and teeth gritted. Words and memories and scents and touches and thoughts, all swirled around his head in a whirlpool of madness. He wanted it to stop, wanted his heart to stop beating its insistent song over and over and over, trying to tug him towards... towards what? What would there be at the end of this horrid nightmare? Another one? A worse one? Why was he still among men, he didn't belong here, didn't want to be among them and their schemes and lies and deceiving little hearts...

Something wet on his cheeks. A tentative finger investigated, pulling away to reveal tears. Crying? Over what? What did he have to weep about? There was nothing to shed tears for, only... only so much hurt he could no longer hold it. With a roar he drove his claws through the floorboards, tore them up, banged his head and fists against the wood until splinters flew about him. And then he wept, hugging himself as he simply let the tears flow, unhindered.

 

Tiny claws crawled over him, soft sound of chittering and peeping. The rats sensed his grief and were now surrounding him, upon him, nuzzling their noses to him and lying down close by and against him. He had given them food often and they would see his kindness repaid, especially now when he needed it the most.

Dettlaff barely felt them for the moment, silently weeping his hurt. But eventually his thoughts receded, like a tidal wave pulling back to leave devastation in its wake. All the broken bits still hurt but now it was not a continuous assault and this was something he could handle. Reaching down with human hands, he let a rat crawl into his palm which he then brought close to him. He stood and the rats pooled around his feet, moved out of the way as he walked to sit against a wall, knees pulled to his chest. The rodents skittered around him, on him, lying down close to him as only pack animals can.

He let them. He needed it.

 

He was unsure how much passed as he sat there with the rats who gently nuzzled him, slept with him, completely trusting in him. He sighed a bit, running a thumb over a rat's back idly. He had noticed some of them had run back and forth between him and their holes, possibly to get food. He looked at the window. The sun was rising. Perhaps it had been an entire day then. He contemplated sitting for another day but then a queer feeling rose in his breast. Cold and unwelcomed and he could tie it to one person in particular. Alicja. This feeling... Longing. Loss. Need...

He missed her. He missed her something terrible.

And so he stood from his spot, letting the rats jump off of him and scurry back to their shadows, gently petting one on the way out. He had a place to be and a face he missed. Her scent. Her eyes. Her voice and the kind light she had when she smiled.

 

He opened the door the Ferret's Rest, smelling familiar scents of cooking, alcohol, fish oil and woodsmoke. It was relatively empty, much like his first time there, but a flaxen-haired woman looked up immediately the moment he stepped inside. He hadn't seen her smile so wide before, face filled with happy surprise, relief. She was... happy to see him. Something fluttered in his chest.

 

"Dettlaff! Good to see you again! We thought you might've left, what with two days of absence," she called, that happy, kind tone in her voice. He held her eyes and gave just a simple nod, walking over to his usual seat. She disappeared out in the kitchen while Kalina peeked through the door, giving a toothy grin before disappearing again. Alicja returned shortly afterwards with a mug of Kaedweni Stout and a tray of fresh bread, sweet meats and cheese. All this she set before Dettlaff, smiling away. So he had been sitting there for two days... It had felt like a moment, nothing more. Time still remained odd to him.

But he nodded and sipped his ale. Yet she remained.

 

"Where have you been, if you don't mind my asking?" she asked softly, inquisitively. Again that flutter, like a moth's wings in his ribcage.

 

"I... needed to do a few things. My apologies--" he started but she shook her head.

 

"Oh! No-no, no need to apologize, for anything. It's just that... when you're used to seeing someone every day, and they suddenly disappear, you can't help but worr-wonder, where they've gone," she said, a small blush riding up her cheeks. He caught that slip immediately, grey eyes catching hers. And then he smiled at her, lightly but there.

 

"Thank you," was all he said before he broke eye-contact and looked out the window. He could hear her heartbeat this close, heard it flutter a bit faster like a caged bird. Much like the fluttering in his chest, despite not needing a heart. Perhaps his soul then, or a trick of the mind? Regardless, he found he didn't mind it, if only for a moment as he listened to the light footsteps disappearing behind the counter once again.

All was in order, and his heart could remain in one piece. For now, at least.

 

 


	8. A Matter Of Respect

The next day brought a nervous-looking man through the door, without his boisterous self. Boussy, looking from side to side, uneasy. Dettlaff watched him walk over and sit by a table in the corner, ears listening for his call for 'bluebird'. When none came, he returned to eating his meal, a rather delicious fish soup. He had caught its scent before he had even entered the tavern, and he simply had to try it. He had found that Marcel was quite the cook.

Kalina came over to Boussy, cocking her head to the side. This wasn't what she was used to seeing, but someone had to cater to the large, muscled mountain anyhow.

 

"Hey luv, mug o' Vizima for ya?" she asked, sitting down on his table with a suggestive smile on her lips. He just looked up, hands folded in front of him and nodded.

 

"Yeah. Sure," was all he muttered before falling silent again. Kalina looked like she'd found an eyeball in her soup or something similar but left Boussy at his table to go fetch a mug of Vizima Champion for him. Dettlaff could hear her trade words with Alicja in the kitchen.

 

"Luv, you won't bloody believe it, but Boussy, yes, that Boussy, barely gave me a glance! Somethin' wrong with him, clear as day. Didn' even call for you, that's highly queer, don't you think?"

"Are you serious? Boussy's sitting out there, right now?"

"Bloody go look if you don't believe me, luv!"

 

True enough, Alicja's blue-eyed face peeked out from the doorway, very carefully and spotted the downed Boussy sitting silently by his table. A few of the patrons were over by him by now to hear what was gnawing at him, but he didn't say a peep. Not a word. Just sat there with a worried expression on his face. The flaxen-haired girl disappeared back into the kitchen.

 

"Well, I'll be kicked by a mule, it _is_ him! Can't say I've ever seen him that... defeated before. Maybe something happened to him? You know him, don't you?"

"Aye, I know him. I'll see if he'll be up for talking, but I don't think he is. Never seen him that... uneased. S'like somethin' gave him quite a fright."

 

Dettlaff kept his knowledge to himself and slowly ate, enjoying his food while staring out the window. It would seem that Boussy would be no threat for a while yet. It always made his day a little better when a message had sunk in. Poking his food a bit with his spoon, he felt it was missing something, especially now that his mood was a smidgen better. He turned his head to see where Alicja was and catch her eye. He caught it the moment she exited the kitchen and with a smile she wandered over, cleaning rag in hand.

 

"Is the soup to your liking?" she asked, head tilted just slightly in an unspoken question of 'what more can I do for you?'

 

"Indeed. It is quite good. But I would like a glass of wine with it, if you have any," Dettlaff requested. She smiled wider, one that really reached her eyes, crinkling the edges.

 

"Sure thing, any specific one?" she inquired, but he shook his head. He figured he'd leave it up to fate to decide, as well as Alicja's taste. He had a gut-feeling she'd find a good wine for him, she knew what she was doing in this little tavern. He idly wondered if Marcel would ever let her run it once he was gone.

She continued to smile and disappeared out to the kitchen to find a wine, returning momentarily with a proper goblet and a white vintage, which she then poured to him.

 

"Enjoy," and she meant that whole-heartedly. He knew it. Humans had been odd creatures to him for a very long time, being unable to read them and understand their actions, their emotions. They were an entirely different species with an entirely different way of viewing the world, and an entirely different way of communicating with one another. Many things were lost in translation. Alicja, however... As long as he didn't think too hard on it, he could almost understand her fully. Perhaps it was really that simple with her... Just seeing what was given and nothing else. Perhaps...

 

"Pfft, lookit him; drinkin' _wine_ like some posh soddin' noble. Too good for ale now, are ye?" called a man from across the room, a few men snickering around him. Dettlaff looked up and caught his eyes. Grey-blue, stormy. His face unkempt with a toothy smile that betrayed he missed one or two. Broken nose that refused to heal right. Tattoos around his neck. Scars. A scrapper, perhaps. The vampire paid him no more heed and took a sip of his wine.

Said scrapper must've taken that as an insult, for he stood and took a few long steps towards Dettlaff.

 

"Oy. I'm talkin' to ya. Or are ya deaf too, ya pompous blighter?" he was outright challenging him, showing off, prancing about, just wanting to start a fight. Dettlaff could see and smell why too; alcohol and trace amounts of fisstech around his nose. Man was boiling from the inside with narcotics, like some alchemist's brew.

Being a little high on seeing the results of his assertion over Boussy, Dettlaff couldn't help his words:

 

"Not at all. But I wonder, do you kiss your mother with that mouth, or your father?"

 

He probably shouldn't have said that. But testosterone does interesting things to your impulse control and Dettlaff didn't have a lot of that to begin with. The scrapper put his hand down and cleared the table in front of him, sending wine and soup flying. It looked as though his eyes would pop out of his head at any moment now, his teeth gritted tightly.

 

"Say 'at again. I dare you," he hissed. Dettlaff would've. He would've also probably thrown him across the room, had it not been for a scent of roses and violets coming in close to them.

 

"Boys! Boys, please. No fighting in the tavern, you know the rules. Darek, Dettlaff, please," Alicja pleaded, moving in-between them to pull the scrapper back a bit.

 

"Fucker doesn't belong here! Fucking thinkin' he's too good for us, ey?! Drinkin' wine like some nobleman, high classed blighter!" Darek, the name of the scrapper apparently, spat, blood boiling, heart gallopping away in his chest. Dettlaff could hear it clear as day. Man was on the verge of popping a blood-vessel somewhere.

 

"Darek, please, if you had a proper job, you could buy wine too--" and Alicja should not have said that, for the back of Darek's hand went straight across her cheek, sending off to the side with a yelp.

 

"Shut up, bitch! You dunnae know nothin', you have no--" and he didn't have much else to say as Dettlaff took the wrist of the hand that had hit her. If Darek's blood was boiling, Dettlaff's blood was pure lava in his veins, eyes almost alight in the tavern's half-dark. _**Oh, he has done it now, Dettlaff my dear. Take him. Shred him. Kill him. Rip him to shreds, he deserves it for hitting the little bluebird. Rip his arm off and feed it to him.**_

 

And he would've done it. He would've torn him wide open and painted the ceiling and walls with his blood, broken every bone in his body, torn off every shred of skin and painted him in salt and vinegar, and he would've revelled in his screams of pain. Every single one.

But a pair of soft, gentle hands tugged at the arm holding Darek's wrist in a vice-grip. Pawing at him, pleading. Sapphire eyes looked at him, wide and worried.

 

"Dettlaff, no. Please. Let him go. It's alright," she said softly, pleaded with him.

 

"He hit you--"

 

"I know. I know he did. Marcel will cut him off if he does it again. Please, let him go," she pleaded again, voice so soft and gentle. With but a moment's hesitation, he let go, watching Darek stumble back with angry eyes.

 

"Now get outta here! Get!" Marcel hollered and the scrapper scrambled out of the door, followed by two other men. Dettlaff had to take a few deep breaths to calm down, lock the beast back in its cage. Alicja hadn't let go of him, still holding onto his arm, gently... petting him. She was trying to calm him and it was working. He sat down then, looking away.

 

"Thank you, Dettlaff. For... for defending me and for not hurting him. He can't help it, he's got problems. I know him. He can be good, at times, but sometimes he doesn't think straight," she said, assured him.

 

"He still should not have hit you. No man with respect for himself would hit a defenceless woman," he argued. His thoughts briefly took him to... to _her_ , giving him a memory of her death at his hands. _But that was different_ , he told himself. _She had not been defenceless, she had brought too much hurt_...

 

"I know but... You're right, no man should hit a woman without cause, but some do and... Well, it doesn't hurt any more. It wasn't a fist. It just stung a little," she continued to assure him, petting his arm. He sighed and hung his head a moment, then nodded, signalling that he'd let it go. She gave him that relieved smile again.

 

"Thank you," she touched his hand before standing to clean up the mess Darek left in his wake. Her hands were... warm. Soft and gentle. Kind. Just like the rest of her. It only fueled his resolve more. He'd find Darek and he'd make him pay for raising a hand at her. He would not come out of that scuffle unscathed. Dettlaff would make damned sure of that.

 

The day came to an end with a greyed sky, clouds covering the moon and the setting sun. Leaving the Ferret's Rest, the vampire had a new quarry to hunt. He stole into the night to find his prey, senses alight to cover every square inch he came across. Every scent that assaulted his nose, every sound, every sight. He ran and leapt across rooftops, sniffing the air for Darek's scent. Alcohol, fisstech, sweat, testosterone, inks, blood... Many a person with that signature, but every person had a distinct smell to them that was only theirs. Their signature scent. He would find him, eventually.

And he did, standing in an alley, alone, knife drawn and waiting for prey of his own. A mugger, hm? Double the reason to hunt him. Without much effort Dettlaff let the beast free and leapt down on Darek's back, smacking him to the ground. With inhuman strength he grabbed him and threw him face first against a wall, one hand coming up to wrap around his mouth to silence him. He had more in mind than scares tonight.

 

" _ **You. I saw what you did. Goading a man into fighting, hitting a defenceless woman. I wonder what else you have done of despicable things, Darek. But I am here to avenge them, you pitiful excuse for human flesh,**_ " he snarled in his ear, bringing his other hand up to show off his long claws. Darek squirmed, wriggled, struggled to get free, yelling muffled against Dettlaff's hand. He tried to wrestle it away with his own but he was no match to a vampire.

 

" _ **Remember me for all time**_ ," he snarled then drove his claws into the man's shoulder. Darek screamed, muffled by the hand and he continued to scream as the claws relentlessly bore into his shoulder, twisting and turning to make the wound jagged and irritated. And he had made sure it was the shoulder of the hand he had hit Alicja with. He stabbed him again, driving his claws in deep until they came out on the other side, lodging themselves in the wall.

 

" _ **You will never hit a woman, again. If you do, I will be watching and you do not want to know what I will do to you then**_ ," he warned ominously before becoming mist on the breeze. Darek's screams could be heard throughout the district once his mouth was freed. Dettlaff took no more heed and moved away along the rooftops to find a proper vantage point from which he could watch Alicja walk home.

 

Woe be any man who thought her an easy target tonight.

 

 


	9. A Day Off

"--cel, would you mind if I take the day off? I need to go to the market and stock up before they sell out of everything I need," was the first thing Dettlaff heard when he entered the tavern. He looked to the kitchen doorway, seeing the bluebird half-way out. So, she would go to the market today? No point in him waiting around in the tavern then, he'd have to keep an eye on her... But, perhaps, he needn't hide this time.

 

"Hmm... Alright, Alicja. You've been good for the tavern, I think I can let you go for a day. Enjoy yourself now," came Marcel's voice and the flaxen-haired girl smiled.

 

"Thank you ever so much! I'll return tomorrow, that's a promise-- Oh! Dettlaff," she had turned, walked half-way across the room before she realized he was standing there by the doorway, arms crossed casually.

 

"Alicja," he greeted with a single nod. She was smiling happily all over, clutching a basket in her hand. Coincidentally, the same basket she had carried with her during her cart-ride here. He recognized it. It still had its blue ribbon too.

 

"Going to the market?" he asked, trying to remain casual.

 

"Indeed! Perhaps... you'd like to come with me? Unless you have other things to tend to, of course," she smiled, looking down, basket in both her hands and a slight blush on her cheeks. How could he possibly say no to that? If anything, he wanted to whisk her into her arms and carry her far, far away-- _**No. That is not what you came for. Do not lose yourself now, she can only hurt you. It has already begun, she is wrapping you around her little finger, do not indulge yourself in her, you cannot, you mustn't--!**_

 

"It... would be my pleasure," he eventually said, moving to open the door for her. _**Weak. She will swallow you whole and spit out the bones. Just like the raven-haired bitch. She will eat you alive!**_

 

Alicja smiled and walked past him, waiting patiently for him to join her. He did, walking next to her with his arms behind his back. He had a lovely mental image of linking arms with her, but he'd rather not press his chances... or make the imagined feelings too tangible. He shouldn't. He mustn't. All he was doing was being courteous to a lady whom had become a part of routine. There was nothing else to it. Nothing. He had to keep telling himself that.

They walked next to one another to market, her smiling that kind smile of hers and him with a neutral expression. He would never show how much the moth in his chest fluttered away at being so close to her, the sweet smell of roses and violets a constant to his senses. But not only that; the beast gnawing away at its cage was growing restless, growling and snarling, warning him. There were too many similarities, too many emotions that felt the same, too much... But he gritted his teeth, clenched his hand and kept walking with her. Because a part of him wanted to, though he was loathe to admit it.

The market was bustling already with fishmongers and other merchants peddling their wares far and wide. Smell of spices on the air, fish oil, metals, perfumes, wild-flowers, alcohol and something sweet he couldn't quite place... sugary, caramel, apples. He turned his head to look towards the smell and spotted a stall selling apples covered in caramel, whether bits or the whole thing. Seemed a popular item to eat, what with the people standing by it. Alicja went to a stall selling linens and silks just brought in from the river. Quality items too, for a smaller price than usual so as to attract customers quickly.

 

Dettlaff looked over her shoulder at the items she perused, hands behind his back. Without knowing, she was showing him the interests that humans have in material things. Perhaps with her way of expression, he might have a chance at understanding humans and their fascination with things that crumble away in a matter of years. She bought a few bundles of red and purple cloth, with thread to match before moving on down the marketplace. She avoided the food stands, passed them by without a glance. Then again, he figured she was fed by working in the tavern, Marcel seemed the kind of man to at least feed his employees. Perhaps by taking it from their wages.

They moved on to a jewellery stand where something had caught Alicja's eye. She smiled, fingers reaching out to touch a bracelet on display. A golden band with small sapphires along the outer rim and crystals running in a line in the middle. A pretty trinket to be sure, but she left it where it was, smile fading a little bit. Dettlaff took a mental note of it, perhaps he could use that knowledge for another time. For now, he followed with her through the market, close at heel.

Passing by a stand selling flowers, she stopped to admire and smell a bundle of flowers. Lavender, white roses, tulips, orchids... flowers he didn't even know the names of. But he took in their scents nonetheless, remembering them, connecting them with her. She bought a bundle of violets and one with roses, making him wonder whether she mixed her scents by herself or lay the flowers with her clothes to make them smell that way. Perhaps he'd never know the answer for he dared not ask.

 

"Beautiful bracelet back there," he eventually said after a while of perusing wares and spices. She looked at him, blinking a few times then nodded with a smile.

 

"Yes, quite a lovely piece. I've always been fond of sapphires... Alas, I have no money for it, but it's all right. Had I money enough to buy such a trinket, I doubt I'd be happy with it. It's just metal and stones, after all," she said, waving her hand to trivialize the matter. That caught him a bit off-guard. He had always seen ladies become ecstatic over jewellery, fawn over precious jewels and metals. Gold was preferred, encrusted with diamonds, sapphires, emeralds and rubies. Nothing less would do it.

 

"Interesting. Most women I know of would kill for such a piece of jewellery. Even lesser pieces," he remarked. She looked at him, slight smile on her lips.

 

"Then how shallow lives they must lead, if metals and rocks are the only things that make them happy," she said, meaning it well but it felt like Dettlaff had just been kicked in the face by a horse. The fluttering moth in his ribcage was having a heart-attack of its own, panicking and beating its wings ridiculously fast. He felt warm, perhaps a bit fuzzy and somewhat dumbstruck. He had to shake his head to get rid of the sudden cobwebs, then put a long stride in his gait to follow Alicja before she disappeared in the crowd.  
One part of him was warning him, screaming at him to be careful, to leave, to run, but the majority of him was perfectly fine with following her around, admiring how the sun played in her flaxen hair, how her sapphire eyes shone in the midday, how he could clearly see the freckles on her nose and cheeks in this light. She was, in a word, beautiful. Inside and out. He had to admit that now and there was no turning back from it.

He eyed the cart with the caramel-apples and had an idea.

 

"Wait here a moment. I will return shortly," he said, and she nodded, standing still next to a stall, out of the way of the growing crowd. The line was thankfully short by the time he reached the cart, and tossed the merchant the few crowns he expected for a handful of apple pieces, dipped in caramel. Before long, he returned to the waiting woman, wooden plate in hand holding the sweet treats.

She smiled when she spotted him, smiled wider when she spotted the caramel-dipped apples and chuckled. Silver bells to his ears. He could listen to that laughter for a lifetime with ease.

 

"Oh, that's sweet of you. Let's move away from the crowd a bit before we're overrun," she suggested and he followed dutifully until they reached a quiet place by the docks. They both sat on a small bench overlooking the river, enjoying the sight and the sticky treats. They sat like that in silence for a while, simply enjoying the tranquillity. He could hear her heartbeat, how strong it pounded in her chest, how fast. It was so easy... so easy to just fall for her, lose himself. Still he had doubts plaguing his mind, telling him that it was all just a ruse. He didn't know what to believe any more and he looked away. His expression must've troubled the woman next to him, for she placed a hand on his shoulder, a somewhat worried look in her eyes when he looked at her.

 

"Yes?" he inquired, trying to pretend he hadn't looked sullen and down.

 

"Is everything all right?" she asked, caring as ever. Caring for him, worried for him... It was hard not to be warmed by that.

 

"Yes. I am fine. Just a few things on my mind, that is all," he said. It wasn't exactly a lie, just not the whole truth. It was more than a few things. It filled his entire being, took up the moments he had left when she wasn't near him. A light lit up in his mind though he tried not to show it. Alicja... her, she... His mind was _silent_ , when she was near. Mostly silent. It was easier to think, clearer. Not the fog of doubt he had when he was alone.

Stars and ancestors, what power did this woman have over him...

 

"All right, if you say so," she relented, leaning a little bit closer to him to steal another apple piece from the plate in his hand. Their shoulders touched and all thoughts of doubt, of deception, of lies just vanished from his mind and he was left with one thing. Her. Not _her_. But **her**. And that wasn't so bad as he looked over the silent waters of the river. The plate was empty and he discarded it on the other side of him. He hadn't tasted a single one of them, but it didn't matter. What mattered more was the touch of her shoulder against his, despite not feeling the skin.

What mattered even more was when her little-finger wrapped around his and he looked at her, slightly startled, surprised. She didn't look at him, shy, tender, a soft blush on her cheeks. His heart melted and he turned his hand just so to wrap his own little-finger around hers. It wasn't much, but the symbolism was staggering. There was no rush, no urgency, no doubtful beast in a too-small cage howling at him. Just a raven-haired man and a flaxen-haired woman, sitting by the banks of a still river, shoulder to shoulder and little-fingers intertwined.

 

The sun set on the horizon, creating beautiful hues of reds and purples. He could watch the sunset for a thousand years with her like this, but he knew she must be hungry at this point and soon needed sleep. So he pulled away from her, giving her a small, tender smile and she returned it with one of her own. He stood and held out his hand for her, which she took and stood with him. This time he dared to offer her his arm and she wrapped her arm around his, basket in her other hand. Together they walked back to the tavern along the shore of the river.

Once there, he held the door open for her, which made her chuckle again. Kalina looked up from the counter and saw them both, unaware to what had transpired just earlier but her eyes betrayed that she was suspecting something. Dettlaff sat down by his usual seat but looked in Alicja's direction as she walked to the counter, all smiles and the lightest dusting of blush on her cheeks.

 

"Evenin' luv. Got what you needed out there?" Kalina asked, leaning on the counter.

 

"Yes, I did. Are there a few leftovers out back? I'm afraid I haven't gotten much to eat today," she admitted. Kalina shot Dettlaff a glance then looked back at her colleague.

 

"Yeah, I think there's some pie left over. I'll fetch, you just sit down with your eh... acquaintance," she grinned. The blush on Alicja's cheeks brightened.

 

"Kalina, really..."

"Yeah, really. Go, I'll fetch some food," she winked and disappeared out back, leaving the flaxen-haired woman to walk over and sit by Dettlaff's table. He smiled at her, hands folded on the table. She placed her basket beneath the table, out of the way and sat with her hands in her lap, sweet smile still on her lips. No words passed between them. No words were needed. They'd think later, for now they simply enjoyed a fragile moment that could shatter at any time.

Kalina returned with two plates of meat-pie, placing them on the table. She gave Alicja a wink before returning to the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone. Dettlaff saw but he didn't comment. Slowly they both ate, enjoying their meals. He heard soft talking in the background but didn't listen closer. He recognized Marcel's and Kalina's voice but paid them no mind. They could whisper all they wanted to. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered at that moment but the woman in front of him, giving him the most tender of glances with her sapphire eyes.

Evening wiled on, time wiled on until her day was over and sleep tugged at her. He could see it in her; her eyes growing tired, a hidden yawn every so often. The food was gone and there was nothing else keeping them in the Ferret's Rest.

 

"Well, I think it's time for me to go home now. It's been a lovely day, Dettlaff, thank you for accompanying me," she said as she stood. He rose with her, a little spark of something within him. A little light.

 

"Would you mind if I accompanied you home?" he asked, tentatively... hopefully. Hope. He hadn't felt hope in so, so very long. She smiled, reaching for her basket.

 

"Thank you, I'd like that," her voice was small, shy and his heart swelled. He walked a little ahead of her to open the door for her, before leaving together with her. The barkeep and the tavern wench looked at each other with knowing glances and kind smiles as they left.

Dettlaff offered his arm to the flaxen-haired beauty once again and she accepted it. With that, they walked into the night, without doubts or pains or a rush to go somewhere important. Just two souls intertwined, happy to live in the moment. He let her lead the way, pretending to not know where she lived, despite having seen the building every day for the past many days. He knew it, knew its smells and its neighbours. She lived alone in the house, though a small one it was. But it appeared she didn't need more than that. She appreciated little things in life and it made him wonder if she knew what it was like to have nothing. It certainly would explain quite a few things about her.

Soon they reached her doorstep and he let her go, holding her hand as she ascended the few steps to her door. Her eyes were alight in the darkness with happiness and it only warmed him further.

 

"Thank you, Dettlaff, I appreciate it. I guess I'll... see you tomorrow, then?" she asked, fidgeting with the ribbon tied to her basket.

 

"Certainly," he assured her. The thankful smile was one he could get lost in for times yet to come, in memories he'd remember for years.

 

"I'm happy to hear that. Good night," she reached with her key to unlock the door.

 

"Good night, Alicja," and so their evening ended, the soft click of the door's lock marking it. Dettlaff allowed himself to float to his own little home in the attic of the old clothing shop, becoming corporeal only when he was laying on his hay mattress. He was contented, without doubts, unable to hear the beast roaring within him. He was deaf to it. All he could hear was Alicja's sweet voice saying his name, wishing him a good night.

 

 


	10. Dubious

When morning light came, whispers filled Dettlaff's mind with thoughts he'd rather not have. He sat up, holding his head in his hands. The beast was there, nagging him, whispering things in his ear and drawing sharp claws across the back of his neck.

 

**_So you have her now and you refuse to listen to reason. Her smile might hide a venomous bite that is just waiting for you to lose yourself, biting onto your heart to fill you with toxins. But no, you will not listen to these reasons, these things that speak of your personal experience no... But what of me, my dear Dettlaff? What of me, the beast that keeps you alive? Like every other human, she will abandon you the moment she sees me. You are a monster, there is no way around that. A monster, hideous being of claws and killer instincts._ **

 

As if on cue, his nails lengthened to become the sharp claws that had killed so many, hurt so many and would do so to many, many more. He could almost see the blood drip from them, could imagine its taste, its scent. Sweet, sweet intoxicating blood that could send him into oblivion. He only needed to indulge. But he couldn't, not now. Not this time.

 

_**But why not? What is stopping you from going out, right now and drain the first and the best human to cross your path? She will not have to know. She will never know if you never tell her. Let me out and let me feed, my dear Dettlaff.** _

 

He shook his head, his form changing, hands holding his head as the voices, the memories, the scents and senses filled his mind with horrid, bestial things. Blood, flesh, temptations, dark scents, heavy metallic air. He wanted, desired, snarled as he fought the urges that welled up in him. Ashes, bile, blood and bitter tears.

 

_**Come now, my dear Dettlaff... She loves only what she sees, she loves only the man, not the monster. Humans cannot love monsters, they never will. They despise them, hate them, send the hunters and the witchers after them. Why else do you think those cat-eyed mutants exist? To exterminate monsters and freaks like you and I. She will ever only see the man, the disguise, the skin you wear to protect yourself from others. The moment she sees your burning eyes and your sharp claws, she will scream for her life, call you a monster, shun you for who you are.** _

 

He didn't want to believe it, he didn't want to know, he didn't want these thoughts. He hissed in frustration, one hand clawing at the floor beneath him, digging up splinters from the rotting floorboards.

 

_**It has happened before. It will happen again. Mark my words, my dear Dettlaff. Your heart will break and she will call you a monster.** _

 

He wanted to cry out, to roar, to tear up everything around him. He wrapped his arms around himself, rocking back and forth as the beast tormented his mind. Kind claws ran over his back, comforting almost. He could feel it beneath his skin, stroking him and petting him so sweetly and kindly.

 

_**Shhh, my darling. I only want what is best for you, always for you. You know you can trust me, for without you I would not exist. We are one and the same, you know this. You know how these humans are; selfish and two-headed. You have seen it before, you have felt it upon yourself. You know what they are capable of, my sweet.** _

 

He knew it spoke true, he knew it was the truth. The wounds were still fresh, still hurting, but... Yesterday, with Alicja. Her touch had made him forget, if only for a moment. There was no denying that. It had felt real and true. He was only thinking of her when she was near, when she touched him.

 

_**She is making you want her, making you need her, the bitch.** _

 

"Shut up!" he snarled, slamming his fist into the floor.

 

_**It is the truth, my dear, only the truth. She will turn on you, you will see... You will see the truth in my words, you will know I warned you and you will wish you had listened... Just you see, my dear Dettlaff. Just you wait and see...** _

 

The subconscious touches receded, leaving him alone and curled up on the floor. There were no thoughts, no doubts, no snarling from a chained beast... No memories tormenting him. Just the echo of words spoken by doubt. 'Only what is best for you'... 'wait and see'...

But no more than that. He took several deep breaths, eyes closed while he calmed his temper, his emotions. Only one thing remained in his mind and that was a vision of sapphire eyes and flaxen hair.

Having already wasted daylight, he hurried along to the tavern, becoming tangible only when he was near it. The familiar scent of alcohol and food calmed his nerves somewhat, but it was the scent of roses and violets when he opened the door that dispelled most of his unease. Sapphire eyes looked up from the woman's current task and spied him, a smile following soon after.

 

"Good morning, Dettlaff. Slept well?" she asked kindly, caringly as she carried a tray holding two dirty mugs with her to the counter. He could already feel the tenseness disappearing, just at hearing her voice, seeing her kind face.

 

"Decently enough," he answered, finding his usual seat by the window. She came over to him and gently brushed a hand against his shoulder. He looked at her with a small smile, grey eyes meeting hers.

 

"And yourself, Alicja?" he asked, perhaps caring more than he'd like to admit. Or perhaps he would if anyone asked him at this point, eyes full of emotion as he simply looked at her. She didn't look away.

 

"Quite well, thank you," she answered, hand resting gently on his shoulder. "Anything I can get you?"

 

"An ale and a bit of bread, if you please," he requested and off she was, quick as you please. The world was right and well again and he could only think of her. The beast was quiet and out of the way, waiting for everything to come crumbling down around him. If fate and luck held well, it would never come to that.

 

Never.

 

 


	11. Friendship Is Forever

Something churned in his gut when he opened the tavern door this time. There was a scent of roses and violets in the air but neither Alicja nor Kalina were anywhere to be seen. Something was no right, he could feel it. They should be here, both of them. He heard someone in the kitchen, recognized Marcel's movements. The middle-aged man emerged, cleaning a cup with a rag.

 

"Morning, Dettlaff. What can I get you?" he asked, as though nothing was wrong.

 

"Marcel. Where is Alicja? And Kalina?" the vampire asked. Perhaps there was a logical explanation to it and he was just overreacting.

 

"Out in the woods. Kalina said she had something to show Alicja. All secret-like too," Marcel said with a shrug of his shoulder. Something cold settled in Dettlaff's gut.

 

"Really? Did she say where they were going?" he asked, trying to act natural, calm. It was difficult when all his senses told him that something was very, very wrong here. He didn't know what, but something was terribly wrong.

 

"Sort of. They went to the woods across the river. They should be careful out there, there's plenty of things that could eat them for breakfast, but I'm sure they're alright," the barkeep answered casually, looking at the cup he was cleaning. Dettlaff's heart sank deep and his core grew cold.

 

"... Thank you. I will come back later then," he turned to leave, barely hearing Marcel wishing him a good day. Something was terribly, terribly wrong, he could feel it. He'd have to find the bluebird, the sooner the better. A boat would be too slow for him. Mist it was. Mist and fast movement. He hurried across the surface of the water, materializing on the other shore where two boats had been pulled on shore. Two boats, not one... Several footprints in the mud, some definitely not belonging to women. Smell in the air. Alcohol. Fisstech. Ink. Vizima Champion. Blood. Infection. Stale sweat. Woodsmoke... Roses and violets.

 

_Shit._

 

Dettlaff became a blur among the trees, climbing one for the best vantage point as he moved, following the scents, the footprints. A terrified scream made his blood run cold and he practically sprinted in the air, barely touching the branches. Birds barely realized he'd been there, some letting out confused peeps while others were shocked into silence. Worry consumed him, worry and fear. And he was right to both, for the scene that met him was one he had feared he'd see.

 

In between the trees stood a group of people. Six men, two women. He recognized each face. Four of those faces he recognized particularly well. Boussy standing with two of his lackies. Darek standing with two of his. Kalina leaning on Boussy's arm. And Alicja, held by the throat with a knife in one of Darek's lackies' arms. Her scream was what he'd heard.

 

"Kalina, please! Why!" she cried out, wanting to struggle but fearing for her life.

 

"Cause you're a witch, you are! A witch! You call foul curses 'pon us, you do. First poor Boussy, calling a monster to frighten him to death, poor, poor Boussy. Then you call up a fiend to mutilate poor Darek's arm! Medic say he almost had to amputate the thing. And I sees those eyes you cast on Dettlaff, how you charmed him into your arms, you foul, demon-fucking witch! Well, I won't let you take him!" Kalina accused, spitting on the ground. Alicja looked at her in horror.

 

"Kalina! I'm not a witch, please! I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"Oh, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout, you soddin' whore! Thankfully, I know how to break such spells and curses. You fuck the witch and then you kill her. You first, Boussy, you were cursed first!"

 

Alicja's scream tore the air as Boussy advanced upon her. But he did not get far as a deep snarl pierced the air.

 

Against the pale morning light where the trees just barely parted, stood a monster tall with long claws and blazing eyes. Every single fiber of his being _boiled_ , _burned_ and demanded to be heard. Humans... deceitful little things, toying with others for their own amusement. Filthy creatures, stealing what was his, thinking they could harm anything he touched.

 

" _ **Did you not hear what I said?! I said. I would find you. Should you ever. Lift a hand. To the bluebird. Ever. AGAIN!**_ " he snarled and was across the way in a heartbeat, tearing his claws into one man. He was dead before he hit the forest floor. Fangs parted to roar as he turned to face the rest of them.

 

"That's it! That's the monster! That's the monst--" Boussy had little else to say as said monster was by him in the blink of an eye, claws around his neck as he lifted him from the ground. Kalina stumbled back, Alicja was pushed away and chaos erupted in the woods. Blood followed, blood and screams and torn body-parts. He had warned he'd shred Boussy's skin from his flesh and he did just that, before tearing out his vocal chords and then cut his spine right beneath his ribs.

Darek suffered a like-wise fate; a slow and painful death while the lackies were torn between running and aiding their comrades. It ended well for none of them. And he made sure they were dead, very dead. Blood dripped from his claws, warm and sticky and dark. He snarled as his eyes searched the undergrowth, sniffing and listening for the women.

 

"-ucking slut! I won't let you have him, I won't! I'll kill you, I'll kill you and then I'll have him! He's my lover, mine! I knew him first, I did, we go way back, and you're stealin' him from me, you fucking whore! Slut!" Kalina's voice cut through the air and the beast was right after it, climbing a tree for better searching. He found them both not far away, Kalina dragging Alicja halfly by the hair and halfly using a knife against her throat.

Dettlaff, now seemingly human, dropped behind a tree and stepped forward.

 

"Kalina," his voice was deep, commanding and she turned immediately, her eyes large and fearful.

 

"D-Dettlaff! I-I can explai--"

"But there is nothing to explain, is there? We have known each other for _years_ , have we not?" he cut her off, taking a step towards her. This caught her off-guard, confusion in her eyes. Then the fear grew and it grew to her face, her body, her hand letting go of Alicja who stumbled back. Both Kalina's hands grasped the knife, pointing it towards Dettlaff.

Or rather, the beast. For mid-step he changed, he let the beast out of its cage, hands growing talons nigh the length of his forearm, face drawing back over bone to expose dagger-sharp teeth, some almost as long as a thumb. Eyes grew red and angry, blazing fires even in this light.

 

"S-Stay back!"  
" _ **What is ever the matter, Kalina? I am your lover, am I not? Would you not embrace your beloved? Come into my arms and let me show you just how. Much. I. Adore. You**_," he snarled, taking another step closer and another until he melted into mist and grabbed her by the throat. She gasped, struggled, panicked, waving the knife around wildly in an attempt to stab him. She slashed him across the chest, dislodging his moth brooch in the process, making it fall to the ground. Then she stabbed the hand holding her and then finally lodged the knife to the hilt in his neck.

He didn't even flinch. All he did was carry her in an outstretched arm all the way back to a tree, pinning her to it. With his free hand he pulled the knife out of his throat and before Kalina's very eyes, the wounds healed in moments, leaving not even a trail of blood.

 

"M-MONSTER! GET OFF ME!" she cried out, kicking her legs wildly, her pale green eyes wild and terrified like that of a caught rabbit. To end her thrashing, he jammed the claws of his free hand into her chest and leaned in close.

 

" _ **I would tear out your heart and show it to you... but it would appear you have none**_ ," he snarled, drawing his hand out to the side and dragging every vital organ in his way with it, including her erratically beating heart. He held her there, watching as the life left her wide, scared eyes. And then she was dead, lifeless and let her fall to the ground like a ragdoll.

 

Near silence followed, broken only by the beast's deep breaths. Soft rustling of leaves, fabric as someone stood. Alicja.

 

" _ **Leave me**_ ," he snarled. He couldn't bare to look at her. She knew now. She knew what he was, she knew the beast, she had seen him kill and she had seen him draw it out. This was no clean, quick kill, this had been one laced with fear. And he'd do it again, given the chance.

But the footsteps didn't halt or turn away.

 

" _ **LEAVE!**_ " he turned to her, snarled, roared. She only jumped at the sudden noise but she didn't run. Instead she stood a moment before taking another step, then another, one hand holding an arm of her dress up where it had been torn in the scuffle. He growled at her, confused and somewhat afraid of what would come next. A cornered beast. She took her time, putting one foot in front of another while keeping her eyes on him. Only once did she break eye contact, though very briefly to kneel down and pick up something from the ground. His brooch.

Then she continued to step towards him. He took a step back, lowering down to either spring to run or attack. Fight or flight. She stopped then, looking at him. She was only a few feet away. Had they both reached a hand out, they could've touched fingertips.

 

"Shhh... I won't harm you," she spoke softly, sweetly, her tone kind and gentle as though... as though talking to a wild animal, a beast out of its mind with madness and fear. He didn't move but his body was tensed like a strung bow. A wrong movement and he'd gone, or worse. She was careful, looking into his eyes as she took another step closer and another one. Carefully she put the brooch she was holding into a pocket in her dress and then held out her hand, palm up. Like you'd do to a dog or a cat to show you meant no harm, something for it to smell and get used to your smell.

She had dealt with wild, unpredictable creatures before, rapid animals that could've hurt her given half a chance. He didn't move still. She took that as a good sign and reached out further, taking another step closer to him. He flinched this time as the hand came close to his face and she halted immediately. When he didn't move away she reached further, fingertips barely touching his jaw. The touch was soft, gentle, barely there. Fingertips moved up to his cheek, the rest of her fingers now touching his jaw. He let her.

Her palm came to rest on his cheek and he closed his eyes, leaned a little into her hand. Her other hand let go of the ruined part of her dress and came to rest on the other side of his face, thumbs gently running over his skin. Her hands were soft, gentle, kind. So much it almost hurt him. Then they were gone and he opened his eyes, afraid that she'd changed her mind and run off.

 

But no. She had simply reached into her pocket for his brooch, which she then carefully reached out to re-attached to his coat. Then she looked at him with those kind, kind sapphire eyes of hers and... smiled.

 

"You dropped this," she said, softly, barely above a whisper.

 

He broke. Right then and there, he broke. He wrapped his arms around her, this flaxen-haired girl he didn't deserve and pulled her to him, forehead coming to rest on her shoulder. He felt her arms wrap around him, holding him in a loving embrace. And then he wept, as the beast receded, crawling back into its cage with its tail between its legs, humbled by this fearless, kind woman in his arms. He cried, he sobbed, he fell to his knees before her, clutching her like a drowning sailor would a piece of driftwood.

She knelt with him, letting him weep into her lap as she leaned over him, hands running up and down his back. She didn't hush him, she simply let him weep, humming a soft tune as he did. It all came crashing down now around his ears, all the barricades, all the hurt, all the heartbreak and all the relief. Alicja had looked into the eyes of a monster and she had not wavered.

 

Time passed, his tears drying up to nothing and he pulled back, taking deep breaths. His eyes remained closed. He could not look at her. But she reached for his face with both hands and forced him to look at her. Those kind sapphires told him all he needed to know as she pulled his face close to hers, touching foreheads. One hand sought up into his hair, gently running over it, petting it, assuring him everything was alright.

 

"... What did I do to deserve you?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. She smiled at him, a kind, pitying smile.

 

"I don't know, Dettlaff... Are you all right?" she asked him in return and he almost wanted to laugh. She seemed too good to be true, too good to be real and yet, here she was.

 

"I will be fine... Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?" he pulled back to look at her, assessing the damage. Her dress was torn, a bruise on her cheek, a slight cut on her throat but not bleeding.

 

"One of them slapped me and Boussy tore my dress, but I'm fine," she assured him. He sighed and nodded slightly, waiting a moment more before standing and helping her stand with him. He was still ashamed, looking away from her, but she wanted none of that and brought his face back to her.

 

"Why do you look away from me?" she asked, eyes searching his for answers. They revealed none.

 

"I am not worthy of you. I am a monster, a creature of nightmares. You should fear me, yet you humble me... I am ashamed," he looked away.

 

"Don't be. You are who you are and no one can change that. You're still Dettlaff, the stubborn, silent traveller who came to the Ferret's Rest every day since he arrived. The man who told Boussy to quit it, who told Darek off, who walked with me to the market and who escorted me home. Who gave me sweet caramel apples," she chuckled a bit at that, running her thumb over his cheekbone.

 

"You're still him, aren't you? It doesn't matter how you look; what matters is what you do, what you say. And you've done nothing to suggest you're a monster... All you did... all you did was protecting me, didn't you?" her voice was soft, no malice in it, nothing to suggest she was angry with him, or scared of him. He nodded slowly, leaning into her hands.

 

"Then I should thank you. And so I will; thank you," she said and hugged him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He hugged her back, holding her close, nose buried in her shoulder. Roses and violets embedded in her skin. Faintest scent of soap.

 

"Even if your methods are a bit, hm... extreme," she noted, pulling back a little to look him in the eye with a lopsided smile. "But we can work on that. Promise me not to kill another person."

 

"I promise... I cannot promise I will not kill if you are in mortal danger," he said, arms still around her. She nodded, but said little else. She looked behind her at the corpse of her one-time friend, then looked ahead.

 

"We should get back," she suggested and Dettlaff nodded. Rather than letting her walk, he picked her up in his arms, eliciting a soft gasp from her. Then he carried her as he walked to the boats while her hands clung to his coat.

 

"What will you tell them?" he asked as they came nearer the boats.

 

"The truth. That they tricked me to the woods to do... unspeakable horrors to me. That something terrible slew them and that you came to my aid, carrying me away to hide us from whatever had struck them. That the woods have claimed yet more victims and people should be wary if they tread here," she said, looking up at him. He made notes of that so that he might retell the story, should anyone ask. He placed her in one of the boats and pushed it into the water before jumping in himself, taking the oars to row them back to the other shore.

They'd have to get the guards and explain the situation, spin a tale to cover the vampire's tracks. With luck, no one would draw a proper conclusion. They'd see maimed bodies and hopefully the place would be crawling with wolves and necrophages by the time the guards would get there,. There would be no telling what had killed them. Certainly not a well-spoken man caring for his shaken beloved.

But if it came down to it, he'd steal away in the night with Alicja to a far away place. Dettlaff could only hope it would not come to that as they reached the shore and hailed a nearby guardsman to recount their tale.

 

 


	12. On Your Doorstep

Marcel had been kind and given Alicja a few days to gather herself after this terrible incident. He could handle the patrons, now that they were six men fewer than usual. Not only that but the guards hadn't launched an investigation into the murders across the river. They had attributed them to a 'woodland spirit' that had been disturbed by the violence, and then retaliated by maiming its victims. Within half a day, murmurs of a terrible beast ran through the city, talking of a tree-like creature with long arms, sharp claws and the head of a deer-skull. Dettlaff was safe for now and he could still walk freely in the city without anyone giving him the evil eye.

He didn't waste his time either. He went to the market to find a certain jeweller's stall. Eyes scanned over the trinkets, baubles, at first not seeing what he had come for. He scanned the table again and again but it remained gone. The bracelet had been sold and he mentally cursed. The jeweller looked at him curiously, he could feel his eyes on him.

 

"Something I can help you with...?" he asked. Dettlaff looked up at him, blinking once, twice.

 

"Yes. Maybe... I was here, a few days past and saw a bracelet. Golden, with sapphires and crystals," he described, a bit hopeful that perhaps it had been moved and not sold. Perhaps his luck would hold out. The jeweller smiled sadly.

 

"Ah yes, lovely number. Alas, it's been sold, I'm afraid... But why don't you try at the shop rather than here instead? He has a better selection than I do," he suggested. Of course! The shop, there was an entire shop, not just this tiny stall here. He'd passed it when he had perused the city on his first day here. Without another word, the vampire disappeared down the streets.

On the way, he passed another merchant, one with an audibly bulging coin purse. It was a little less audible after Dettlaff had passed him. After all, he'd need coin to pay for such a trinket and he rarely bothered with material wealth. He took what he needed, but he knew if a piece of jewellery went missing, someone would look for it and if they found it with Alicja, she would get in trouble... But a coin purse from a merchant dressed in silks? A mere inconvenience, at best.

 

He wasted no time in entering the shop, eyes moving over each bauble, each trinket to spy a proper one, a good one, a perfect one for his bluebird... His?... Could he allow himself to call her that now? What would she say if she knew that he already called her 'his'? They hadn't bonded, they weren't mates but...

 

"Can I help you?" a voice asked nearby, disrupting his thoughts. Another jeweller, elderly, disciplined he noticed. The way he held himself, hands behind his back, straight as a board.

 

"Maybe. I am searching for a piece of jewellery for m--... a woman," he caught himself before uttering too far. She was just a woman for now, not _his_. Not yet. The jeweller smiled, perhaps a bit knowingly.

 

"Certainly, sir. Anything particular in mind?" he asked. He had doubtlessly catered to many a young man looking for a bauble for their ladies and to-bes.

 

"Gold. Sapphires and crystals. A..." he looked to the side at the display in the window and something caught his eye, glinting in the sunlight. A ring. A simple, elegant band, golden, the metal snaking around three gems, holding them like vines. Two crystals and a sapphire in the middle, shining bright and blue. He couldn't stop staring and walked over to it. The jeweller followed him on his side of the counter.

 

"Anything catching your eye, sir?" he asked, smiling. Dettlaff pointed to the ring.

 

"That one. It has to be that one," he had decided. A bracelet wouldn't do, it simply wouldn't do, it would be too obvious, too gaudy, she could get mugged for wearing such a thing when she went home at night. But this? This was small, delicate, elegant and beautiful. It reminded him of her. This ring would belong to her, no matter the price.

And the price was hefty, he had guessed right when assessing that the jeweller charged an arm and a leg for his wares. But the ring was paid for by a merchant who hadn't kept his eyes on his purse, and Dettlaff left the store with the small item in his hands. He was almost afraid of losing it with how small it was. But he knew it would fit her, he knew her hands from when they had caressed his face. This would fit her. And so he moved from the street to her home, long legs carrying him while he held securely to the ring as though it would turn to mist at any given moment.

 

He hesitated but a moment before he knocked on her door, moth-wings fluttering in his chest. Seconds felt like hours and he was almost tempted to knock again, unsure if she had heard him. Could she even not hear him, the house was rather small, but maybe she wasn't even home, perhaps she was at the market--

But then the door opened to reveal Alicja and he could breathe easy. She was not wearing her usual pale blue dress he had come to recognize, but another one with a yellow border. It suited her. She looked just as beautiful as she did in the other one. But then again, it was Alicja. She looked beautiful to him no matter the dress she'd wear.

 

"Dettlaff!" her smile was bright when she recognized him and she stepped down the few stairs to him, barefooted he noticed.

 

"It's good to see you. What brings you to my door?" she asked. Her heart was racing in her chest, he could hear it. He took that as a good sign. He held out his hand to her, opening it to reveal the ring, glittering in the sun.

 

"This... I know it is not the bracelet you wanted, but, I saw it and I thought of you. I know you said it is mere metal and stone, but I--"

 

And then she kissed him, breaking his track of thought in half. It took him a moment or two to return it, the surprise nigh overwhelming to begin with. Her lips were soft, sweet, gentle. Unhurried. Tasted faintly of elderberries. He wrapped his arms around her, fist closing tightly around the ring so it would not be lost. She in turn wrapped her arms around his neck, one hand moving into his hair and sending a shiver down his spine. This simple kiss, tender and slow, was absolutely perfect and everything he could ever have asked for. Slow, sweet, tender... Words were not enough, would never be enough.

She broke it first, pulling away slowly for air with a soft sigh. Her sapphire eyes were half-lidded, looking at him with affection. She smiled at him.

 

"It's perfect, Dettlaff. It's beautiful. More beautiful than the bracelet. Thank you. Thank you so very much," she told him. He opened his hand again for her to take the ring, delicate hands picking it up with care. But he was confused. How could this meagre little item be more beautiful than the bracelet? It... it was less gaudy, yes, but their beauty could not be compared...

 

"...How? How is it more beautiful than--" but she stopped him with a finger against his lips, still smiling at him.

 

"Because you gave it to me," she answered and his heart skipped a beat. He leaned in to capture her lips again, eliciting a chuckle from her. It tasted as good as the first one, felt as real and perfect. People were probably watching as they walked by, but he could not care any less. They didn't matter, their opinions didn't matter, nothing mattered but this flaxen-haired girl in his arms, returning his affection with her own.

She pulled back to breathe, he kept forgetting she needed air while he didn't. Her eyes were alight with happiness and she looked down to put the ring on her finger. It fit. It fit perfectly as though it had been destined to be on her hand.

 

"It's beautiful, Dettlaff, it really is," she told him again, fingers fidgeting with it on her hand. He watched her, feeling cheeks heat up a little. A little spot of pride nestled in him, happy that his gift had been received so well. He had halfly feared she'd shun it for whatever reason, but perhaps he should've known by now that Alicja was not like any other woman he'd ever met. And she was nothing like _her_. Absolutely not like _her_ and it only made his heart swell.

 

"I am... glad that you like it," he said in all honesty, letting go of her. He didn't know what to do now, didn't know what to ask of her. Should he request to enter her home? Should he kiss her again? Should he ask her to be his mate? What came next?

But it seemed she knew, or perhaps could read his mind or see his unease.

 

"Perhaps you could come back? Tomorrow? I... I would like to be a bit alone. Yesterday is still a little to close for me. I-I'm not shunning you, I just want to--"

 

"To work it out," he finished for her. He knew. He understood perfectly. Betrayal was not something to be taken lightly. He knew this all too well. Her own unease lightened, he hadn't even seen it in her eyes until it was gone.

 

"Yes. Thank you, Dettlaff, for understanding," she was thankful, grateful, her heart beating strongly. He took her hand in both of his one last time.

 

"... I will be near," he told her, though he wanted to say so much more that he couldn't use words for. He wanted to tell her just how beautiful she was, how her eyes caught the light, how her face lit up when she smiled, how her words brought a calm over him every time she said his name, how he starved for her mere touch... How thankful he was that she existed. But all he could say were those four words and nothing more.

But she smiled at him still and leaned up on her toes to give his cheek a small kiss, barely a touch of lips against his skin but it left a warm feeling in its wake.

 

"Come by tomorrow, I should hopefully be a little less shaken up," she said, letting go of him. He wanted to follow her, hands burning from touching her. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her tight until the world forgot they existed. But not yet. Not yet. Perhaps one day. For now, he'd give her time. He'd give her eons if she asked. He'd...

 

He'd give her the world. He'd give her stars in the sky and draw the moon down for her. He'd go to the ends of the world for her. He'd do anything she asked, if only it meant to see her smile, to see those eyes glitter with happiness and content. He had killed for her, for her safety, and he'd do it again. He wasn't falling any more, he had fallen entirely and his heart belonged to her. And only her.

He nodded and she gave him one last smile before the door closed, leaving him alone in the streets. But he was warm. Finally he was warm. He loved and was loved in return, he could feel it. He knew it. It couldn't be anything else, and for once since he had left Tesham Mutna, the word in itself did not taste like ash.

 

He did not spend his evening in his attic, did not spend the night there. He couldn't risk it. Instead he moved up the walls to the rooftops and sat on the roof of Alicja's house like some gargoyle on a mighty cathedral. He couldn't risk her being hurt in any way, shape or form. He'd watch over her day and night if he had to, unwavering. If she was hurt, he would never forgive himself. She was too precious.

He had to fight his instinct to hide her away from the world, find a lair and keep her there, safe and sound. But he had no pack that could protect her while he was away, or hunt while he watched over her. So this was the next best thing, the only other option less he'd worry himself to death over her. And he'd be no good to her dead.

The moon hung bright above him, bathing the city in its light. He could imagine bringing her to the most remote ponds in the woods, showing her the beauty that so many humans forgot was even there. He could imagine bringing her to the furthest mountain tops to show her the breath-taking views the world could offer. Perhaps she'd allow him to steal her away from time to time, to show her things that were often overlooked by others. She was the kind of person who'd enjoy seeing natural beauty, unlike so many he had met, he just knew it.

 

He sighed, a smile on his lips as he looked to the sky. For just this night, he could breathe easy, knowing there was a dawn to be had the next day. A dawn with her. A dawn with his Alicja.

 

 


End file.
